


Hephaestus 1

by GalaxyOwl



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Martian, Gen, Hera and Rhea are dubiously sentient, other characters are there too but I can't be bothered to tag them all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/pseuds/GalaxyOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hephaestus 1 mission that made Isabel Lovelace the first woman on Mars was a complete disaster. But she's very good at not dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hephaestus 1

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Santa gift for tumblr user imaginariumgeographica (based on [their AU concept](http://imaginariumgeographica.tumblr.com/post/132433723030/so-basically-i-have-2-versions-of-a-wolf-359)).

HEPHAESTUS 1 MISSION ARCHIVE

  AUDIO LOG CAPTAIN ISABEL LOVELACE

LOG ENTRY: SOL 1

Alright. We’re supposed to start recording these logs, since we’re going to be properly arriving on Mars soon. Should be fun.

We’ve been traveling for so long now that it’s strange to think we’ll finally be there. Today marks our… 174th day on the _Hephaestus_. Can’t believe we’ve spent that long on this tin can.

I think the rest of the crew is glad for the change of pace it’ll bring. I heard Fourier and Hui talking the other day—they’ve been meticulously planning their experiments for months now, so it’s no surprise they’re ready to get started. Dr. Selberg, on the other hand, has been surprisingly quiet. I can only assume he’s working hard to contain his _intense_ enthusiasm. And Lambert… well. I think he’s excited to arrive. At least, inasmuch as he’s physically capable of experiencing anything resembling joy or happiness.

I just hope the landing goes okay. I’ll talk to you on Mars.

***

The shuttle’s autopilot system announces their arrival, and Minkowski leaps to attention. She’s been just slightly on-edge all day, trying to account for anything that could go wrong. But now that moment’s here.

“Calculating orbit vector,” the system announces. “Fifteen minutes until scheduled decent.”

“Thanks, sweetheart!” Eiffel calls, floating into the room, and Minkowski rolls her eyes. She still doesn’t quite understand why the thing needs to talk in the first place.

She runs through her mental checklist yet again. They can’t afford to screw this up. They only have one shot at making this landing and, well, not-dying in the process, so they have to make it count.

There is one more thing she has to do. She’s pretty sure she hadn’t seen the third member of her crew all day. 

“Dr. Hilbert?” Minkowski knocks on the door to the room that had become, over the course of the journey, his makeshift lab.

“Hilbert,” Minkowski repeats, not waiting for a response. “We’re here. Meet me and Eiffel at the airlock in five minutes. Be ready.”

***

LOG ENTRY: SOL 6

Oh, god. 

Okay, in all honesty, I’m not even sure why I’m recording this. Will you hear this? Is that how this works? Or… Maybe I’m just bored. Sure as hell don’t have anything else to do around here.

So, some interesting stuff just happened. Let’s recap, shall we?

We arrived on the planet without issue. We got to the ground, started setting up the supplies, everything according to plan.

Yesterday, Hui approached me and mentioned that there was a sandstorm—or dust storm, I guess?—on its way towards us. I asked him if he or Dr. Fourier could look into it if they had the time, but I didn’t think much more about it. He got back to me later last night and said that the meteorological readings seemed to indicate the storm wouldn’t hit us for another week or so. We should have had time to prepare, figure out how much damage this thing was gonna do.

This morning, I roused the troops, we all got up and set to work. I was supposed to be collecting rock samples. Pretty simple stuff.

But the storm hit fast. I managed to make it into the rover in time to rendezvous with the others. After brief discussion, I made the call: we needed to leave. Abort the mission and head home empty-handed. So we picked up our things and headed to the ascent vehicle, and returned to quietly panicking there.

We moved in pairs, impossible to keep the full group together in the chaos. When Lambert and I arrived, the astrophysicists were already deep in conversation, running numbers, trying to figure out if we could—hah, pardon the phrase—weather a storm of this severity. I started counting crew members.

“Does anyone know where Fisher and Selberg are?” I asked.

No one knew.

Lambert powered up the communications array on the vehicle so that it could connect to their helmet comms, and in a moment we were in contact with Fisher. He said something I couldn’t quite catch, but it didn’t matter.

“Get in here; the storm’s coming in right the hell now, you need to get back here.”

The line cut to static before I could hear his response.

Before I could start worrying too badly, Selberg showed up. All on his own. I asked him where Fisher was, and he explained that he’d lost sight of him and hadn’t be able to find him.

Hell. I paused only a moment to think, then told them, “I’m going to look for him.” The storm swirled around us, roared, and the ship shook and groaned ominously. I took another breath and said, “If I’m not back before the ship starts falling apart, leave without me.” 

Lambert tried to stop me. Figures, really. But I was the captain, and I was going to go rescue my goddamned engineer, and he wasn’t going to prevent me from doing that. I turned straight towards him. “That’s an order.”

Could trust him to follow through on that, if nothing else.

I put on my suit and left, walked straight out into that swirling, roaring storm, and went to find Fisher. 

I didn’t find him. Didn’t find a body, either, and I’m not sure whether I’m relieved about that or not. But I know it’s most likely the sand just buried it. The radio was full of endless, worried chatter, but I thought I had time. But at some point, it just went quiet. An hour later, when I returned to the launch site—still Fisher-less—they were gone.

Good. That’s what I told them to do.

But now I’m stuck here, with no way home.  
 Alone.

***

Touchdown on the planet goes smoothly. At least, as smoothly as can be expected given the utter incompetence of their third crew member. (That probably isn’t being fair. Nothing terrible happened this time. Just, would it kill him to focus for once in his life?)

But all of that falls away as Minkowski takes a deep breath from the air supplies in her spacesuit, takes that first step onto Martian soil. The world around her is a dusty reddish-brown, still and quiet and empty. She’s only distantly aware of Eiffel and Hilbert emerging from the ship behind her. 

“Mars,” Eiffel says, and that’s really all that could be said. “We’re on freakin’ Mars!” 

Minkowski finds herself smiling. 

“Yes,” Dr. Hilbert says, “very nice. Makes you think. But we do have a job to do.”

Minkowski glances at him, a little surprised, then nods. “You’re right,” she says. “Come on. Let’s get started.”

She starts going through the list again—they need to get the solar cells on the Hab up and working, need to check over the supplies and make sure nothing was too terribly ruined while entering the atmosphere. They have plenty of time, but that doesn’t mean they can afford to waste it.

“Wait,” Eiffel says. What could it possibly be now? “Commander—what’s that, over there?”

She doesn’t have the time for this. But she looks anyways. She can hear Hilbert muttering something to himself.  
 Then she sees what Eiffel was pointing at. “That looks like…” she starts to say.

“A person,” he agrees.

***

LOG ENTRY: SOL 11

Still not dead. So that’s a win, I suppose.

Hephaestus 2 is scheduled to come to Mars in a couple of years—assuming they don’t cancel it after this. They’ll be landing in Schiaparelli Crater, which is… far from here. But long-term, that’s the goal. 

It shouldn’t be that long. I think my crew know I’m alive. They’ll tell the folks back home, and then…

Well, maybe someone’ll mount a rescue mission. Wouldn’t that be fun?

Better yet, though: making contact on my own. I think that the main comms array was pretty much destroyed by the storm—it seems fine, but I haven’t been getting any response. If I can get talking to the folks back home, though, any rescue attempts can be that much better coordinated. There has to be something on this goddamned planet with the capabilities to send a message back to Earth.

I’ve been looking around. And I think that I may have found something interesting.

A few years ago, Goddard Futuristics launched an automated exploration rover on the surface of Mars. It went inactive within the first month. Part of our mission plan had been to check in with it, see if Fish—see if our mechanics expert could get it working.

Well. I managed to find it. Dragging it back with me was not an especially enjoyable way to spend the better part of the day, but if this pays out, it could be worth it.

The thing’s just sort of sitting there now,, staring at me. It’s clearly nonfunctional, but I have to believe that I can make this work. I can make the _Rhea_ talk to me.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 34

How long have I been here? I mean, I have been counting off the days—the sols. But it feels like so much longer. I hope the others are okay. I hope they make it to Earth alright.

I’ve been trying to work on the _Rhea_ , but she seems to be refusing to cooperate. The first step was obviously to brush the dust off the solar panels and see if that made any difference. I shined a bright light on it—thank god for the availability of electricity—and let it sit for a while.

I don’t have a whole lot of knowledge about how this sort of machine works, so I’m going to run into issues fairly quickly if it requires anything more than that. But here’s the ridiculous thing: it worked. The damned thing turned on.

I looked at it, tried to see what I could do. It’s not exactly a radio tower, but it started making noises. Which seems like a pretty pointless function for something intended to do its thing a thousand miles away from anything with ears, but hey. It works.

Except… the beeps don’t seem to have any sort of logic, and I’ve been going over the patterns for hours. So I’m thinking that’s Mars rover for “ERROR.”

***

“It’s probably just… some sort of strange rock formation,” Minkowski says, and she can hear the doubt in her own words as she speaks. It doesn’t really look like a rock formation. 

But it’s not a person. In no possible way can there be a person on Mars; they’d have known if there were any other mission scheduled for this same landing position. 

“Only one way to find out,” Eiffel says, sounding way more upbeat than he has any right to.

She weighs her options, although she doesn’t want to spend too much time doing so. On the one hand, Eiffel is right—they won’t know unless they go check it out. And if it is nothing, it’ll be best to get this creeping paranoia relieved as soon as possible. But if it is a person, then what’ll they do? Such a character is a complete unknown; if they’re on this landing site without any sort of sanctioned authority, god knows who it could possibly be. Or what they could want with them.

“Commander,” Hilbert says, his voice sharp. “I cannot advise—that is, as you say—would not do any good to go investigating every strange rock we see.”

“But what if Officer Eiffel is right?” Minkowski finds herself asking. “What if it’s not a rock formation?”

“Um,” Eiffel says. Minkowski ignores him.

“And what if he is not? Surely such a thing can be investigated at a later time. Officer Eiffel and I will need to begin deploying the solar cells immediately if we want to have everything set up by nightfall.”

She hesitates, then says, “You’re right. You’re right. You two get to work—I think I am going to go look into it.”

“Uh—Commander—“ Eiffel says.

Minkowski whirls to face him. “What?”

He points out towards the figure that had been the subject of conversation. “Not a rock.” The figure was moving. And towards them.

Hilbert’s already turned and began moving back towards the landing platform. Minkowski tells Eiffel to go after him anyways, cuts off his protest. He leaves.

She’s going to deal with this herself.

Alright. She has to think quickly. There’s no reason to assume that there isn’t a perfectly rational explanation for this. Whoever it is, they’re coming towards them, so that means answers, right? It’s a flimsy reason for optimism, but at least it sounds nice.

The figure is coming closer to them, and Minkowski can easily pick out the features of a space suit, emblazoned with the Goddard Futuristics logo. An unease seems to fill the air in her suit, and Minkowski can’t help wondering how in the world this alien stranger could have been sponsored by the same company that had organized their mission. No way Goddard would have neglected to tell them.

The person is so close now that Minkowski can see her face through the gleaming helmet of the suit, her tangled hair and tired eyes. 

“Hello?” Minkowski says, her voice wavering. No response. “Hello,” she says again. Takes a deep breath. “My name is Commander Minkowski, of the Hephaestus 2 Mars exploration mission—can you hear me?”  
 There’s a crackle of static as her comms system connects. The woman just laughs and says, “Of course you are.”

“Who are you?” Minkowski takes a step towards her.

The woman looks at her through the glass in her faceplate and says, “This is Captain Lovelace of the Hephaestus 1 Mars exploration mission. Let’s talk.”

***

LOG ENTRY: SOL 119

Rhea and I are still not friends. I still haven’t found a way home. Still haven’t gotten communication working. So all in all, not much new. How about you?

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

I’ve been thinking recently. About Fisher. I’ve explored this entire area, and there’s no sign of a body. I suppose it could have been covered by sand, but…

I’d like to think that it’s because he made it back before I did. That maybe he’s out there with the rest of them, safe and alive. That’s possible, right?

I want it to be possible.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 181

I’ve been thinking recently. About Goddard. The events that led me to this goddamned place. I don’t understand why the comms stopped working when they did. The equipment should have been able to weather a storm like that. It should have been fine.

I’m starting to wonder if any of this was an accident.

I don’t understand how Rhea hasn’t made contact. Something should have happened by now. And there are satellites all over Mars, someone should have seen me by now. I’ve looked over the comms array a million times, and I can’t find anything wrong with it. It should be working. I had thought it was just broken, but you know what I think now?

I think they just don’t care anymore.

***

“Who sent you, and why are you here?” Minkowski asks, ignoring the woman’s previous statement. The two of them are standing in the middle of a Martian plain, and it strikes her that the situation is rather ridiculous.

The woman—Lovelace—smiles, managing to seem nonchalant despite their conversation’s extraterrestrial backdrop. “Same as you, I suppose. Just a few years earlier.”

Minkowski isn’t entirely sure what to make of that. “Years—you’ve been here for years?” No, she must be misunderstanding.

But: “It wasn’t a walk in the park, I can tell you that,” Lovelace says.

_Lovelace._

Now that she thinks about it, she’s heard that name before, but she couldn’t quite seem to place it anywhere. There had been something about the woman bothering her that she hadn’t been able to fully comprehend until now. 

“You’re Isabel Lovelace,” she says.

Lovelace seems unimpressed by this conclusion. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I am. I told you that.”

Minkowski shakes her head. “No, no, I know. But you’re Isabel Lovelace. The astronaut from the first Mars mission.” She remembers the news articles, the press, the tragedy. It had been huge—the first person to set foot on Martian soil never returned to Earth again. And then, in an instant, the world had moved on. Almost as if someone didn’t want it talked about.

She hesitates a moment, weighing her next words. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

***

LOG ENTRY: SOL 359

Here’s my theory: 

Somebody intentionally sabotaged the comms. I don’t know why, or how, or who, just yet, but I’m going to figure it out. I’ve got time, after all. And whoever it was meant for someone to stay here. We left supplies behind, supplies that shouldn’t have been here in the first place. Someone was supposed to stay behind.

But I don’t think it was supposed to be me. The day of the storm… I think it was going to be Fisher. They were going to let him die here.

They’re going to let me die here. But I won’t let them.

I’m going to make it to the Hephaestus 2 landing site. I’m going to make it back to Earth. I’m going to tell people. I’m going to stop whoever did this, going to stop that damned company before they can hurt anybody else. Whatever it takes.

Sometimes I wonder if my crew is still even alive. Did they make it home? I can only assume they did, and yet… What if they didn’t? I have no way to know what happened to them. Whether or not they’re at all okay.

I would like to think they are. Maybe they’re all home and happy, living their lives—their normal lives—and not worrying about their lost captain. But if they aren’t… If I make it back, and discover that they’re not there waiting? 

Goddard will have hell to pay. 

***

Lovelace barely even reacts, her gaze fixed evenly on Minkowski. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Minkowski, though, doesn’t know what to make of this. _Isabel Lovelace_ , the woman who died two and a half years ago, is standing a foot away from her, very much alive. Which, simply put, should not be at all possible.

She shifts her weight uncomfortably, eyes Lovelace, wishes for something tangible to give her control over the situation. She still has nothing.

“So, Lovelace says, what’s your plan for getting out of this red planet hellscape?”

“Hold on,” Minkowski says, her response immediate, “we just got here. We have a full month’s mission to complete. If nothing else, we need to contact mission control before we make any rash decisions.”

“With all due respect, Commander,” Lovelace says, “I’ve been here almost three years now. Are you really going to make me wait any longer to go home?”

 _She’s waited that long, she can wait a bit longer_ , Minkowski thinks, but doesn’t say. The mission has to come first. There are protocols and regulations, they just have to wait for Goddard command to get back to them. But then again…

“You can’t stay, anyways,” Lovelace says. “Not unless you want to kill me. No way you have enough supplies with you to cover an extra person. Giving up that extra month of time spent on-planet _might_ be enough to get us all home in one piece.”

Minkowski takes a deep breath and accepts her fate. All those dreams of their time on Mars, of all the great things they’d accomplish—all of that is over. There’s no way Goddard will give her another chance.

But they can’t, truthfully, justify not leaving now. Lovelace is right. She doesn’t know the numbers exactly, but with an extra person aboard, their supplies would run low too quickly. They couldn’t afford to lose a month to research.

“The ascent vehicle can probably be equipped to leave within forty-eight hours,” she says.

Lovelace nods. “Good. Now—“ She stops in the middle of her sentence, eyes fixed on something behind Minkowski. 

Minkowski turns and looks. Eiffel and Hilbert are returning from the lander. 

“Selberg,” she whispers.

***

LOG ENTRY: SOL 944

They arrived today. I’ve been alone for so long now that it’s strange to think they’re finally here. 

I was scared. Scared that they weren’t going to come, scared she would refuse to take me with them. 

I was more than a little surprised to see Selberg with them. Going to have to do something about that. But none of that really changes anything.

I’m finally going home.


End file.
